


I've Got You

by Kerkerian



Series: Whumptober 2020 [2]
Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mac Whump, Medical Conditions, Seizure, Whumptober 2020, macdalton
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:28:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26861404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kerkerian/pseuds/Kerkerian
Summary: Whumptober Prompt Day 7: I've Got You (Support/Carrying/Enemy to Caretaker)
Relationships: Jack Dalton & Angus MacGyver (MacGyver TV 2016)
Series: Whumptober 2020 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1952242
Comments: 10
Kudos: 63
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	I've Got You

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Sadly, I don't own MacGyver.

When it comes to Mac, Jack's priorities are clear, not only because he's his overwatch but also because he loves Mac more than anyone else in the world. He considers himself a lucky bastard that their paths have crossed, and he's even luckier because this feeling is reciprocated. Mac and he haven't clicked at once, admittedly, but when they finally did, it was good and solid.

Now, eight years later, Jack has developed a fine-tuned Mac sense. It took a while for him to understand how his partner ticked, and he's still learning, just as he's still in awe of the guy. Mac keeps surprising him, and Jack can't but be amazed and then some. He loves watching Mac doing his thing even if he only understands half of what Mac's telling him that he's doing; he knows that Mac is talking himself through it sometimes because it helps him to remain focused, which is just sweet.

When they first met, Jack thought that Mac was nothing but a pretentious idiot with a pretty face. Boy was he wrong. Not about the face, admittedly, though 'pretty' doesn't even begin cover it- Mac's beautiful inside and out, there are no two ways about it. Considering all the really shitty things that have happened to him in his young life, he could easily have gone off the rails and wasted his talent.

Instead, he turned out to be brave and caring, compassionate and altruistic just to name a few; it's remarkable, really, and Jack is terribly proud of him. Well, except for when Mac takes his selflessness too far or neglects his own well-being for the sake of the greater good. He does that sometimes, which almost certainly is the reason for every single one of Jack's grey hairs.

He doesn't always do it on purpose, though; he just doesn't consider himself to be more important than others, which is why his house only has an alarm system (recently installed) because Jack insisted. Or why Mac didn't move even after repeated assaults on his person in his home, despite what his friends had to say about that.

It's the reason why Jack's hackles immediately raise every time he enters Mac's house and doesn't hear anything. Not that Mac is a loud person, on the contrary, but there's a different kind of atmosphere when everything's alright, an occasional sound. Not the ominous, somewhat heavy silence Jack is hearing now; as if something is off. He pushes the door close with his foot: “Mac?”

At first, he doesn't get an answer, but then there's a groan, ever so faint, and Jack immediately runs towards it, gun already in hand.

It's not what he expects.

Mac is lying on the living room floor, his arms wrapped around his torso; he is shivering and staring ahead with open eyes, his head tilted backwards. It looks scary.

Jack drops down on his knees next to him: “Mac! Mac, what's wrong?” He doesn't even dare touching Mac, so his hands hover over him, not wanting to cause any pain or distress.

Mac's gaze slowly wanders towards him and comes to rest on him: “J'ck,” he manages, unmistakably relieved.

“Are you hurt?” Jack's voice is high and thin, panicked. “Did someone hurt you? Did you fall?” He knows he's babbling, but he can't even think straight. Mac slowly lifts one arm, which is clearly taking a lot of effort, to reach for Jack. Who quickly takes Mac's hand, pulling it close ever so cautiously and cradling it against his chest: “Can I touch you?” he asks, tremulous.

“Yes.” Mac sounds exhausted. Jack slides his other hand around Mac's shoulder, cups his neck, feels how his partner is trembling and that his skin is cold and clammy.

“Tell me what happened, baby, please!”

Mac swallows, closing his eyes: “Seizure.”

For a moment, Jack can't even think, much less speak. “Do you know what triggered it?” he asks once he's got his voice back.

“No...”

Immediately, all kinds of scary thoughts are reeling in Jack's mind, the worst being the idea that Mac might have a brain tumor. He takes a deep breath, trying to compose himself- well, or an approximation of it. Being calm is for people who haven't just found their significant other on the living room floor like that.

He strokes Mac's neck with his thumb: “Okay. We'll figure it out, darlin', it's gonna be alright. Are you hurt?”

“Don't... think so.”

Briefly, Jack debates calling 911, but then decides against it. He's gonna call Dr. Sinderby instead; if there ever is a time to utilize the fact that they're secret agents, this is it. But first things first.

Mac's gaze is fixed on him now, and Jack manages a smile for his sake, wanting to reassure him: “Let's get you off this floor, okay?” He forces himself to sound calm.

Mac can barely move; there is no way he'll be able to walk.

“I'mma carry you,” Jack says, “okay?”

With a resigned little nod, Mac gives his consent, aware that he doesn't have a choice anyway. Jack slides one arm under Mac's shoulders, the other underneath his knees, and lifts him up slowly and carefully. Mac's head rolls against Jack's shoulder as he is being carried to his bedroom, where Jack gently eases him onto the mattress, keeping him upright for a moment while he's pulling the comforter aside. Mac is relieved to be finally lying down on something soft, with a pillow underneath his head. His whole body is sore and aching, and he immediately misses Jack's warmth because he's freezing.

The latter has meanwhile found the t-shirt and old pair of sweatpants Mac's been sleeping in: “Let's get you into these,” he says, “it'll be more comfortable.”

Mac does his best to help, but without Jack, he couldn't have done it; his limbs are not cooperating. Once he's dressed in his sleep things, Jack tucks him in and spreads an additional blanket over his covers: “You good, baby?”

“Yeah.” Mac's voice is barely audible; he looks as though he is ready to drop off.

“No nausea or seeing double or anything?”

“No.”

“Do you need anything? Some water, maybe?”

“'m fine.”

“'kay. You just rest, okay? I'mma call the doc.”

With one last glance at Mac's tired face, Jack leaves the room; in the kitchen, he pulls out his phone and calls HQ, demanding to be put through to Dr. Sinderby.

A moment later, the doc greets him: “Dalton?” Not for the first time, Jack is knee-jerkingly grateful for the guy, who never wastes even a moment when time is at the essence, and he seems to sense that this is one of those occasions.

Jack tells him what has transpired, unable to keep his anxiety out of his voice.

“Okay, I'm looking at agent MacGyver's file right now,” Sinderby says after a moment once Jack's finished. “I seem to remember a head injury- ah yes, here it is. About ten months ago, he suffered from a blast-related closed-head injury, a cerebral contusion which didn't cause any seizures then, but we went in surgically to reduce the intracranial pressure.”

Jack remembers it all too vividly. “You think that that old injury is the reason that he's had a seizure now?” he asks, frowning.

“It's possible, if there was a congruent trigger. We didn't give him any anticonvulsants at the time because it didn't seem necessary and because he was already receiving a considerable quantity of medication to help with the other symptoms.”

Jack nods; Mac had a hard time, back then, having everyone worried. He had difficulty with coordination and memory, vertigo and speech for a while, all apart from the injuries he had sustained from the blast.

Jack is pulled out of his thoughts by the doctor: “How is he doing now?”

“Resting in bed.”

“I take it you'd have called 911 if it had been necessary?”

“'Course. But he's not injured as far as I could tell, and he said he didn't feel nauseous and wasn't seeing double.”

The doctor sounds slightly amused: “Okay. I'll be coming out nevertheless, just to make sure.”

Jack is relieved. Once he's hung up the phone, he returns to the bedroom; when he sits down on the mattress, Mac pries his eyes open, immediately pulling his hand from underneath the blankets and reaching for Jack, just as before. His skin is still cold, so Jack wraps both hand around it: “Doc's coming by,” he says, looking his partner over. “He thinks the seizure might have been caused by the head injury you had last year.”

“Bosnia?”

“Yeah.”

“That was bad.” Mac's speech is a little slurred, which Jack hopes can be put down to exhaustion.

“Yes, it was.” Jack regards him.

“This 's bad too.” Mac's voice is thin but so feeble that it's difficult to gauge how scared he is.

“Doc didn't seem too alarmed though,” Jack says, trying to sound reassuring. “I think it's treatable.”

Mac hums in acknowledgement.

Jack shrugs: “So... Did you maybe hit your head earlier, by any chance?”

Mac squints as he tries to recall what happened before the seizure, but he is drawing a blank. “No idea.”

“'kay. Don't worry, darlin', it'll come to you.”

Mac closes his eyes: “'m cold,” he murmurs. Never letting go of Mac's hand, Jack gets to his feet and lifts up the covers so that he can slide under them as well. Very cautiously, he scoots as close to his partner as possible, pushes his arm under Mac's neck, and folds him into his embrace.

With a sigh, Mac burrows into Jack's solid warmth, inhales deeply with his nose against his shirt, and relaxes into his hold.

“Better,” he breathes, and Jack agrees. He's still shaken by the incident: nothing is more important to him than this amazing person in his arms, and nothing can rattle Jack as badly as something happening to Mac. So he just holds him as tightly as he dares, leans his head against Mac's hair and listens to his quiet breathing, counts his heartbeats which he can feel through their clothes.

When Dr. Sinderby arrives, Bozer in tow, Mac's stopped shivering and has dozed off. Jack extricates himself from his partner, if with regret, as he hears the door opening and people talking: “Mac,” he says. “Doc's here. And apparently, Bozer.”

Mac blinks, looking around as if he needs to find his bearings, and Jack quickly presses a kiss on his forehead before going to meet their visitors.

“How is he?” Bozer asks Jack in an undertone as soon as the doctor has disappeared in the bedroom.

“Exhausted,” Jack says, rubbing a hand over his eyes. “Brave. You know him.”

“Yeah.” A tender smile flits over Bozer's face. “You think he's gonna be alright?”

“I hope so, man.” Jack takes a deep breath. “I guess we'll know soon enough.”

" _You_ alright?" Bozer sounds hesitant.

For a moment, Jack remains silent, then he shrugs: "I should've been here," he says softly. "I had a dentist's appointment first thing in the morning though, then stopped by my flat. If I'd known..." He looks pained. "I've got no idea for how long he's been lying there, Boze."

Bozer nods, obviously concerned: "You couldn't have done anything though," he says. 

"I could have been here," Jack insists, his eyes moist at that.

Bozer knows that it's futile to argue, and he doesn't want to rile Jack up when he's already being so emotional. “Listen,” he therefore says instead, “I'm gonna go shopping and then cook something for you guys, okay?”

“Thanks,” Jack says, grateful. He hasn't even thought about food or anything else. “But maybe wait until we know if Mac can stay here at all.”

Dr. Sinderby seems optimistic though.

“We're going to treat this as an isolated event,” he says once he's done with examining Mac. “He doesn't remember anything that might have triggered it, but I found some swelling on the back of his head which means it's possible that he actually hit his head earlier today. I've scheduled him for a CT scan and an electroencephalogram first thing tomorrow just to be sure there are no other causes, but for now, he should rest. I've given him an anticonvulsant, and he'll have to take those for a while. See to it that he eats to replenish his energy, okay?”

He smirks. “It seems Agent Bozer here's already on the case. Apart from that, just make sure he's warm and comfortable. His body's bound to be sore and bruised after such an episode. And maybe find a hot water bottle, he's so depleted he's having trouble maintaining his body heat right now.”

“So... this isn't a thing that will happen every time he'll get hit on the head from now on?” Bozer asks with a frown, taking the words right out of Jack's mouth.

“It might be unless it's being treated,” Dr. Sinderby replies. “Which we're doing, so Agent MacGyver should be fine as long as the medication has the desired effect.. Given that he's young and otherwise healthy, I don't see why it shouldn't.”

“And how likely is it that something else caused it, something you'd need that CT scan for?” Jack doesn't manage to keep his voice as casusal as he'd have liked.

“Not very.” The doctor gives him a brief, sympathetic smile. “There are no indicators which would have me worry at this point.”

Jack's knees turn to jelly from the sheer relief. “He'll be alright then?”

“Yes, I believe so. I'll ask Director Webber to take him off the rota for a week so he can rest.” He pauses. “ _If_ something unexpected does pop up tomorrow- and that is a very big if, Dalton- we'll deal with it together, okay?”

“Yeah. Thanks, doc. Appreciate it.”

“Anytime. I'll be seeing you in the morning, eight o'clock sharp. Oh, and really do find that hot water bottle.”

Once the doctor has left, Bozer checks the fridge and the pantry, then leaves to go shopping, and Jack returns to the bedroom. Mac's lying on his side, huddled in on himself and unable to hide that he's resumed his shivering.

“Hey, hoss,” Jack says in order not to startle him. “You still freezing?”

Mac nods: “Again.”

“Okay, wait a minute...” Jack opens one of the drawers of Mac's dresser and pulls out a long-sleeved merino shirt Mac usually wears as a base layer whenever a mission requires them to go somewhere cold: “Put this on, darlin'.”

Slowly, Mac pushes himself into a sitting position and Jack helps him out of his t-shirt and into the warmer one, then he rubs up and down Mac's arms a few times because he had visible goosebumps just now: “Should've thought of this sooner,” he grumbles.

“Y-you c-could just crawl in with me again,” Mac suggests, and Jack gladly complies. “Guess I'm your hot water bottle substitute,” he quips. “Hang on...” He takes off his clothes and slips under the covers in only his underwear: “Furnace Dalton, at your service.”

Mac crawls into his arms, shimmying until he's lying mostly on top of Jack, legs entangled, and Jack pulls the covers up to Mac's ears. Whose breath ghosts over Jack's chest, and the latter closes his arms around him, a little worried that Mac might get vertigo like this, but Mac only growls when he says so.

“Did you just make Grumpy Puppy noises at me?” Jack asks into Mac's hair.

“Grumpy _grizzly_.” Mac sounds indignant.

Jack chuckles: “Could've fooled me.” He gently runs one hand in circles between Mac's shoulder blades: “You getting warm, darlin'?”

“Mhm...”

Nosing his temple, Jack takes a deep breath: "I'm so sorry I wasn't here when it happened," he says softly.

"'s okay. Probably not a pretty sight."

"Still."

"Stop that, 'kay? Feeling guilty. 's nonsense. Nothing you could've done."

Jack closes his eyes: he won't, of course he won't, no matter how irrational it might be.

"I could've comforted you."

"Doing that now. All I need." 

Jack's heart constricts at these words. "Okay," he mutters, his voice brittle. "Yeah." Sometimes, it seems like a marvel to him that it actually is enough. 

Mac's too tired to talk any more, so Jack just keeps holding him as he's drifting off to sleep, grateful that it wasn't worse. He feels calmer now, reassured by the doctor's words and Mac's warm weight and what he said. 

"I've got you, darlin'," he whispers. Sometimes, it means to only pick up the pieces. He doesn't have to like it, such as on the occasion when Murdoc abducted Mac and they had to rely on him to get himself out. Today isn't in any way better, but at least Jack is able to make Mac feel safe. 

Mac sleeps for the rest of the day. Jack dozes off as well at one point; when he wakes up, it's already dark outside. Blinking, Jack just lies there for a while; at one point, they have changed their positions, and now they're both lying on their side, arms still around one another, and Mac's face is smushed against Jack's chest, the blanket over his head. How he can breathe like that is beyond Jack, but it's not the first time he's woken up like this; Mac's always cocooning when he sleeps.

With no small amount of regret, Jack eventually disentangles himself from his partner; he really needs to pee. Mac sighs but doesn't wake up, and Jack tries to be quiet as he closes the bathroom door. When he's done, he sneaks back out and puts on a pair sweatpants and a hoodie, all in the dim glow of his mobile phone because he doesn't want to switch on any lights.

His stomach is rumbling, reminding him that he hasn't eaten anything since the morning, and now he notices the lovely scent that's wafting in from the direction of the kitchen. Jack pulls the blanket up a little higher around Mac, who doesn't stir, and follows the enticing smell of what turns out to be Bozer's famous Bolognese sauce.

“Hey,” Bozer, who is watching TV, mutes the sound: “Is Mac okay?”

“Yeah.” Jack sighs, sitting down in the armchair. “He's completely out of it. Took a while to get him warmed up.”

Bozer gets to his feet: "Sounds like he could do with some sustenance when he wakes up." He motions towards the kitchen: “I made vegetable soup, Bolognese and pastry rolls with Ricotta cheese and spinach. Oh, and there's salad in the fridge.”

“You're a life saver.” Jack gives Bozer a tired smile, but the latter shakes his head: “I just hope he's gonna be okay.”

Jack rubs his eyes: “Me too,” he agrees softly.

For a moment, they are silent, then Bozer takes a deep breath: “So, you up for some pasta?”

“I thought you'd never ask.”

Mac wakes up two hours later, when Bozer's already left. Jack is sitting with his back against the headrest, reading, when the mound of blankets next to him stirs; a moment later, Mac's head appears, tousle-haired and squinty-eyed. Jack smiles down at him: “Hey.”

Mac blinks: “What time's it?”

“A little after nine. How're you feeling?”

“Like I lost a fight with a bulldozer,” Mac answers truthfully while he slowly sits up. “And I gotta pee.”

He makes his way to the bathroom and back under his own steam, though, which Jack counts as a victory. Mac is still moving much slower than usual and keeps his arms wrapped around himself because his body is so sore, but considering how Jack found him earlier, this is some tremendous improvement.

“You hungry?” Jack asks once Mac has sat down on the bed. “Bozer sends his love. Proof's in the kitchen.”

A smile ghosts over Mac's face: “What did he make?”

Jack lists up everything: “He also bought some ice cream,” he then says.

Mac laughs quietly: “Boze,” he says fondly.

“So, anything you fancy?”

“Maybe some soup.” Mac doesn't feel like eating at all, but since he's on medication, he knows he should.

Half an hour later finds them both on the couch in the living room. Mac's eaten a bowl of soup and some of the pastry, and now they're sharing some ice cream and watching TV.

“Salty caramel's the best,” Jack mutters contentedly.

“Hm.” Mac, who's been leaning against him, now scoots sideways and shimmies a little until he's lying with his head in Jack's lap.

The latter puts the empty bowl aside and pulls the blanket up a little higher, then he winds his left arm around Mac and gently threads the fingers of his right hand through his hair.

Mac reaches for Jack's other hand and pulls it close, nuzzling his face against it.

Jack looks at him and feels his heart almost painfully in his chest: he can't lose Mac, not now, not ever. He's brimming with tenderness and the wish to protect this guy from everything that might harm him, physically and mentally.

“I love you,” he hears himself say, and the corners of Mac's mouth turn up at that, maybe for the first time that day. “Love you too,” he mutters.

Jack's fingers gently massage Mac's scalp, tangling the soft strands of his hair; eventually, they find the bump Dr. Sinderby mentioned, and Mac winces when Jack accidentally puts too much pressure on it.

“Sorry,” Jack mutters. “Wonder what happened, though.”

Mac still can't recall what he was doing before the seizure: “Me too.”

Jack strokes his cheek: “It's never getting boring around here, huh?”

“No...” Mac closes his eyes. “And where'd be the fun in that?”

Sometimes, usually when something bad happens, Jack wishes for their lives to be a little more ordinary. Then again, he knows he'd be bored out of his skull in record time. Knowing that this could have been avoided though... it's tough, thinking about it too much, because they both love their job and consider it important.

“You falling asleep again?” Jack asks Mac in order to distract himself from these gloomy thoughts.

“Just resting my eyes.”

“Maybe we should go to bed. We gotta get up early anyway.”

“Hm.” Mac blinks his eyes open again; the prospect of getting up and walking to the bedroom is not very enviting. Fortunately, Jack knows him well: “Come on,” he says, nudging Mac until he pushes himself into a sitting position. He groans, squinting at Jack: “Okay, I'll go first. You better walk behind me with your arms outstretched.”

“That bad, huh?”

Inwardly though, Jack is tentatively relieved. If Mac is making jokes about it, he's feeling a little better. There's only reason to get suspicious when he's trying to hide things, or avoids talking about them altogether.

Somewhat laboriously, Mac gets to his feet, groaning: “Worse than Marseille.”

Jack grimaces in commiseration: “I feel you.”

Slowly, they make their way to the bedroom and from there, to the bathroom.

Mac is leaning on Jack while they are brushing their teeth; it's not the first time one of them or both needs physical support during such a simple task, and it probably won't be the last.

At least Mac's not feeling so cold anymore now. Nevertheless, when he gets into bed, he immediately crawls half onto Jack again, who gladly closes his arms around him: “Think you gonna be okay?” he asks, just to make sure.

“Yeah.” Mac lifts his head a fraction to look at him: “I'll be fine.”

“'kay.” Jack smiles, gently pulling Mac closer for a kiss: “Good night, darlin'.”

“Good night, big guy.”

Jack moves his hand in gentle circles on Mac's back; he is aware that he can't keep it from happening should another seizure occur, but he's still listening to Mac's quiet breathing long after he's fallen asleep, keeping vigil.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading/lurking! I'm not a Native Speaker, therefore I apologize for any mistakes.


End file.
